


If You’re Lonely

by legalcapabilities



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Sickfic, alcohol mention, lowkey some sick here so watch out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 14:59:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16600169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legalcapabilities/pseuds/legalcapabilities
Summary: Paul never experienced loneliness much in his life, and of course, the only time he’d been struggling with it much was the same time he’d unfortunately fallen a little ill.





	If You’re Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> So basically this is the first sickfic I tried writing that I attempted writing plot into. 
> 
> There may be some inaccuracies, after all, this will be possibly the first thing I am attempting to post here for this fandom, and though I’ve been here for a while, I still haven’t exactly gotten use to making my stories somewhat accurate. 
> 
> Also, I would like to apologize for the asterisks used in place of italics, I wrote this on another platform and since it’s 4 am where I am right now, I don’t really feel like going and changing them all.

Paul was alone.

Jane had left not too long ago, it really was his fault, after all. She’d caught him in bed with another bird, the loneliness creeping in his gut was a grim reminder of their last months together as a couple— the small, meaningless conversations they had, the little, hopeful things they did to try and stay together. If you’d asked Paul, he’d say it wasn’t worth it in the end. He’d been cheating on her, the love he’d felt for her was only shown in quick outbursts during their hasty, time crunched love making sessions. 

He was sure she’d known he’d been cheating as well, but only seeing him in bed solidified the idea she’d so hopelessly stored in the back of her mind. Paul really tried to forget that, and it was much easier with the help of Francie, and even that American bird who’d found herself accustomed to staying around. They’d temporarily filled the empty space that had drilled into his heart the day he watched Jane pack up and leave. He didn’t want any pity on his part, perhaps pity for Jane, of course, but he did want someone who could satisfy him, stay with him and keep him company through even his darkest times. 

But unfortunately, he’d yet to find that. Francie’s visits were slowly shortening and coming in fewer and fewer intervals, he’d constantly find himself missing her presence over a bottle of whisky he’d stored away for when he was depressed and alone. Eventually, he didn’t even know how to approach her... but he did invite Linda out and over to his house more frequently. It was strange at first, she’d done things so much *differently*, her food was different, her time schedule was different, and Paul had almost just given up on trying because of her overall quirkiness that interfered with his basic routine schedules on a day to day basis. 

She more or less put up with him, more than he had tried with her. Thankfully, she was as caring and loyal as she was stubborn, and Paul frequently found himself missing her a lot more than he used to.

But she was away, then. She’d flown back to America to spend some time with her family for a reunion, or a birthday, or a death... Paul hadn’t paid much attention to the emergency call she’d given him when he was drunk out of his skull. He’d only remembered the basic details when he awoke the next morning with a pounding headache that blurred his vision and a nauseous feeling swirling in his stomach, alone in a quiet house, the only sound being the soft patter of Martha’s claws as she walked up to find him and lay with him. 

Despite the loneliness that plagued his thoughts and home constantly, he’d still put everything he could into his music. The album they were producing had an amazing variety of songs, or, that’s what he thought. Everyone was pitching into the songs they were attempting to produce, and though the almost disconnected presence that Paul associated with Yoko’s vibe constantly got in the way of his work, he’d still felt almost too proud of himself and the others. 

At the end of the day, he’d still had no one to head home to, though. Nobody to show the new song they’d worked on, nobody who’d answer his calls, not even a friend to have a drink with, which seems almost impossible, considering he and his mates had broken the precedence associated with popular boy bands only a few years prior. Yet, he didn’t feel motivated enough to ask anyone, and the only people he wanted to hang out with were Linda or John, and the latter didn’t even bother to try and keep his relationship with Paul anymore. 

They’d been off and on for a while, something that, as it went on, deteriorated Paul’s mental state and only increased his anxiety concerning the full fledged relationship between John and Yoko. He’d known he’d been replaced, but unlike Jane, the solid proof right in front of his eyes still had yet to register in his mind. Every day as he entered the studio, he expected to see John awaiting his presence, but of course... that simply wasn’t the case. 

Besides, Paul was always the first one there, sometimes alongside Ringo or maybe even George, in a rare instance. Never had he found himself alone with John in the studio anymore. It was always JohnandYoko or neither of them would bother to show up. Anytime he’d see them together, an almost sick feeling would form in his stomach, occasionally prompting him to look away as quick as he could. The feeling he’d assumed to be jealousy would stick around till he’d either feed it with alcohol or sex, and sometimes even then it wouldn’t go away. 

The feeling of loneliness didn’t fully set in until he’d realized that he couldn’t actually call John and ask him to come over anymore. Last time he’d tried that, John had been getting ready to go out with Yoko, and Paul pulled a straight face the best he could, wished him luck, and then promptly cried in the bathroom, most likely due to recent stress on his emotional state finally fracturing whatever he had left. 

Now, as he slowly watched the small amount of alcohol left in his bottle swish around, he’d longingly felt compelled to pick up the phone and call John. The older man probably wouldn’t answer, and if Paul remembered correctly, he was supposed to be out with his girlfriend that night anyway, and John would hang up as soon as he’d figured Paul had been drinking if he could’ve answered, so no hope fell in his heart that night. A sudden soft thud brought Paul out of his trance, and he’d looked down only to realize he’d dropped the bottle down on the carpet. 

He felt the blood rushing to his head as he reached over the side of the bed to attempt to grab it, but his attempt proved futile once he realized it had spilled the little amount left. He swallowed thickly and laid back on his stomach, staring blankly at the window. From there, he could see the bright street lights illuminating the fans that surrounded his house occasionally. Thankfully, only the really dedicated fans stayed out till this late, so he didn’t bother to try and shoo them off. 

Not bothering to turn off the light, or even open the door so Martha could get in in the morning, Paul curled up in his bed and slowly awaited the soft, unrealistic dreams he’d often imagined, to fill his head and lull him into a short slumber. 

—

The bright, loud and clanging ringing of the telephone interrupted the warm, soft dream filtering through Paul’s unconscious mind, prompting him to slowly awake and cringe at the sticky feeling he’d awoken to. A sour taste sat in his mouth, most likely from the absence of toothpaste last night. His hands clumsily found the phone, thankful that the ringing had stopped once he’d picked it up. 

His mind felt muddled and clogged, he couldn’t remember if he was supposed to come into the studio or if this was another agency calling for Jane or Linda, both of which he’d usually had to answer. He cleared his throat and coughed, cringing at the queasy feeling suddenly brought on from the movement. “Hello?” He asked, his voice deep and gravely. It was almost relieving hearing John’s voice on the other side of the phone, even if it was being used to scold him. “Paul? Where are you? We were supposed to be at the studio two hours ago!” 

Paul blinked away the heaviness dragging his eyelids down and processed the sentence. Taking a brief glance at the clock, he did indeed remember that he was supposed to be at the studio. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, uh-“ he let the sentence die on his tongue as he looked for something to say, an excuse, perhaps. “What’s the matter? Are you ill?” Came John’s voice again, ringing loudly in his ears. 

It took another moment for him to process that as well. His head was starting to pound once more and the queasy feeling had only increased since he’d sat up more to listen better. His limbs felt heavy, and he still felt utterly exhausted, he’d had no clue of what time he’d even fallen asleep last night. He did now have an excuse to not show up, but he’d not only feel guilty for calling in sick while they had work to do, but also because he’d only brought it upon himself. 

Realizing he’d sat silent for a long moment, he cleared his throat and answered. “No, uh- yeah I’m fine. I’ll head in, overslept, sorry.” He could hear John snort on the other side, and then mutter a quick “yeah, okay.” and then hang up. Paul didn’t think much of it, and dropped the phone back to the receiver, bringing his hands to his face and wiping the sweat from his forehead. 

As he managed to push himself into more of a sitting position on the side of the bed, the movement caused his stomach to churn sickly. He’d barely had enough time as he stumbled, and almost tripped, then pushed the bathroom door open and vomited into the sink. He didn’t take notice of his body shivering with chills and the way the room spun dizzily as he heaved again. Once he’d finished, he took a brief glance at himself in the mirror, leaning forward and brushing his hair out of his eyes. Again, assuming that his sick looking features were from the hangover, he promptly ignored them and hoped the steam in the shower would return that healthy glow to his now pale skin. 

Getting out of the shower and attempting to get dressed proved to be quite the difficult task, for the pounding in his head caused him to have to stop every minute or so, but it only delayed in his efforts to dress quickly and then go downstairs and take medicine. He suddenly became aware of the small scratching outside his door, and groaned when he remembered he had to feet and let Martha outside. He begrudgingly made his way downstairs, Martha at his heels and fed her quickly, then decided to have a smoke as he watched her. 

The decision to have breakfast wasn’t exactly *ignored*, more or less looked over as he grabbed his coat. He wasn’t exactly enjoying the thought of food, even if usually he’d have the desire to eat anything when hungover. He sighed, grabbed a piece of toast he hoped he could choke down on his way to the studio and made his way out the door. 

He threw away half the toast while walking there, just not feeling he’d be able to finish it. His watch confirmed that he’d now been around 3 hours late, a new record for him. He silently entered the studio, feeling tired and blatantly ill. He hung his coat on the rack, then went off to find the others. 

Upon entering the room, all eyes turned to him. He felt an embarrassed flush creep it’s way to his cheeks. He cleared his throat, fixing his left sleeve that had started to ride up his arm. “I’m sorry for being late. I uh- overslept.” He apologized, putting a hand to the back of his neck, and though the others nodded and said it was alright, he felt John’s stare burning holes into his back as he went to set his bass up. “What were we working on?” He asked quietly, tuning the highest string on his bass. 

Thankfully, Ringo told him they were working on John’s song. “Glass Onion, it’s called.” The drummer told him, laying out a quick beat on the drum. “I told you about it yesterday.” John said, pulling out the lyric sheet and showing it to Paul, who’d barely been listening as he thought about the time he’d wasted sleeping. “Yeah, yeah you told me.” He answered quietly, taking the lyric sheet and glancing it over. He again saw John’s gaze on him from the corner of his eye as he attempted to read the lyric sheet— if John had shown him that yesterday, he sure hadn’t remembered it much. 

“Are you alright?” He heard John ask as he realized he’d been zoning out while reading the sheet. He blinked out of his trance, then handed the paper back to John. “Uh- Fine. Just tired. Is there a specific bass line you want for this?” Apparently, his question was unusual, for both John and George, even, seemed to give him a weird look. “We went over it yesterday, and-“ before he could finish his spiteful comment, Ringo butted in with a more forgiving tone. “Perhaps if you hear us play it’ll refresh your memory?” He asked quietly, and Paul nodded slowly in response. 

It did seem familiar, he could almost feel the beat he’d lay out on the bass, but he wasn’t sure if it was the one he’d thought of yesterday, but upon playing it, the others confirmed that it was about the same one. “Sorry I forgot, guess I’m really just not into it today.” He added that part almost under his breath, just enough so he could hear himself. 

The recording for the song carried on, and Paul found he’d had much more to do than just bass. He’d been asked to play recorder and piano on the track, but unfortunately, he didn’t have too much to add to anything John had suggested. Even worse, as the day droned on, the sick feeling that remained unsettled in his stomach earlier that morning had returned, as well as the headache that throbbed in his head. By the time lunch rolled around and they had to make orders for the chef, Paul had tried to remain as unresponsive and distant from the others as he could. 

It remained futile, though, and now he was facing the tea lady asking for their orders. “Tea is fine.” He answered shortly, too afraid to keep talking in fear that he’d most likely lose his stomach contents on her. She cocked her head, and beside her Ringo gave him a questioning look as well. “It’s lunch time, Paul. Aren’t you going to eat?” Paul simply hummed and shrugged in response. “Not hungry, is all.” Ringo, a little annoyed, just sighed and disregarded what the younger man had said. “Get him the same thing as me.” The tea lady hesitantly nodded, but wrote it down anyway and went to collect George, John and Yoko’s orders. 

Paul felt sudden weight beside him on the piano bench, and turned only to see Ringo, already starting to play a small something on the lower register. “Sorry I had to order something for you. You’ll get hungry later and they’re not taking lunch orders except for right now.” Paul hummed in response again, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Nausea swirled deep in his stomach, heightening the fear he held of getting sick at the studio. With shaking hands, he began to softly play a sweet, bouncy tune. Beside him, he felt the drummer shift and watch his hands as they trembled and plucked at the keys, almost missing notes. 

“Are you okay?” Ringo asked him, causing Paul to stop playing suddenly. Second time he’d been asked that, and the true answer was still no. He just swallowed thickly and nodded his head, eyes darting back to the piano. “You don’t seem it, look a little ill there.” Paul took a deep breath through his nose, considering whether or not he should bother telling Ringo that he was sick... or possibly just hungover. “I think I just had too much to drink last night, hungover, y’know?” He was surprised at how many words he could get out before feeling again like he was going to spew, but nonetheless, he’d felt just good enough to form a conversation at this point. He knew that Ringo was staring at him, analyzing his features, but that was just the way the drummer worked. As the oldest, he tended to try and look after everyone else, even if they’d only shown the slightest bit of hesitation. 

Paul hesitantly turned away from Ringo and continued exploring the tune he had been practicing. “If you’re sure,” The drummer started, and stood up to walk away. “Just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.” Paul nodded again, watching as the drummer stepped away. He heaved a shaky breath, eyes barely focusing on the keys as his throbbing headache seemed to increase, causing the room to spin and make him feel much more ill than before. Perhaps he’d underestimated his hangover— or perhaps it wasn’t one at all, and he’d actually started getting sick. 

The thought of having to suffer alone, for almost the first time in his life only contributed to the upset feeling he’d had in his stomach. After Jane had left, anytime he’d long for company, any girl he called over would come as soon as they could, even some of the girls he’d only met once before. Now that Linda was out, Francie didn’t talk to him anymore, and the ties he’d previously held with his fiancé had been so severely broken, he’d have to face his empty, cold house alone. Martha helped with the overbearing loneliness occasionally, but no matter how many times she’d slept in his bed with him, it wasn’t the equivalent of the feeling of human contact in bed with him, or the feeling of someone’s hands through his hair, the feeling of massages and small kisses... with all the thought of his impending and awaiting loneliness back at his house, he’d completely disregarded the raising sick feeling in his throat, threatening to send him to the bathroom. 

Unfortunately, he’d been a little too late on preventing the oncoming sickness, but he was thankfully *fortunate* enough that his mind wanted to hold on to whatever dignity he had left, and he’d managed to escape to the bathroom before he’d gotten sick in front of the others. 

As soon as he’d stumbled into a stall, his trembling knees gave out in front of the toilet. The small, confined area he’d come to suffer in seemed to tilt as his head spun sickly. He’d barely managed to push his upper half over the toilet before he’d started vomiting for the second time that day. His body wracked with chills, weakening his limbs as he heaved again, except this time, he’d had nothing to bring up. 

Though still feeling terrible, he sat back from the toilet and rubbed his wet eyes pathetically. Dread pooled in his stomach, knowing if anyone found him like this that he’d be sent home early, *and* he didn’t even drive there, so he’d have to walk home alone, sick and frustrated. Any attempt to stand up resulted in a spinning room and more sickness rising in his throat, so he’d been forced to come to an unwilling conclusion that he’d have to stay in there until he felt a little better. 

A sudden, squeaking sound caught his attention, his automatic assumption being that it was the door. Hastily, he scrambled to his feet, falling forward a little when the room started to spin again. He blinked away the dizziness slowly and staggered to open the stall door, only to come face to face with John. The older man had a slightly agitated look on his face, his annoyed glare burning with anger. “What the hell? You disappear right before we start recording and don’t even tell us?” He hissed, crossing his arms. 

Paul blinked blankly, mouth open as he tried to find something to retort with. “I uh- really had t- to go.” He stuttered, trying to balance the best he could on his weak knees. John didn’t respond, instead opting to roll his eyes. “Well, the lunch orders here. If you’re hungry.” John said, walking up behind Paul who’d gone to wash his hands and mouth in the sink. “Really? It’s only been, like 5 minutes since I came in here.” Paul said, coughing a little. “It’s been 15 minutes.” John stated, and Paul suddenly tensed up, fearing the others would find out. “O-oh, yeah must’ve lost track of time.” 

The older man moved slightly behind him, Paul could see his tense facial expression in the mirror when he looked up, examining his pale features and reddish eyes. “Well, like I said, your lunch is waiting for you, but I doubt you’re hungry.” Paul blinked, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked nervously, attempting to sound as oblivious as he could be. He heard John scoff behind him, seeing his stern reflection. “Didn’t you just throw up? It’s not like it isn’t obvious.” Paul felt sick just from hearing that. He’d tried to hide it earlier, insisting he was fine as much as could. “Yeah...” he opted to say. He’d finished washing his hands, now scrubbing them with a paper towel roughly. A brief, awkward silence ensued their conversation, only broken when John decided he’d leave. “Yeah I’m gonna go. The others want to know where you are. Come back when you’re ready.” Paul felt himself reach for John on instinct, but quickly drew his hand back, an instant feeling of regret and sadness overwhelming his thoughts. 

The sound of the door closing behind him was almost deafening, and it was only then that he realized that he was alone again. It took him another 5 minutes to recuperate, worry shaking his hands the entire time. A smothering feeling of dread, of heading back and living alone again, felt suffocating, but he knew that he’d nothing he could do about it. Nausea built up in his stomach again, but knowing it was going to end up useless, he swallowed against it. 

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, his head wouldn’t stop pounding and his stomach wouldn’t stop churning. He felt sick, and not just because he’d most likely contracted something. He almost felt like he couldn’t breath. He he’d been left alone, *again*. His hands grasped at the edge of the counter, his eyes jolting up and meeting his own gaze in the mirror. There was no way he’d be able to head back the the studio, he was pale, shivering, crying and harboring an overall ill look. 

Muttering a quick, quiet curse word under his breath, he took a deep breath and left the bathroom, not giving a care in the world on how he looked. Upon entering the studio once more, he felt John and Ringo’s gaze more than the others. “Aye... Paul-“ Ringo said, gesturing to the food they’d been brought, but the bassist ignored the statement. “I’m going home.” He said blatantly, surprising the others. John, for once, didn’t comment on it. Paul had gotten most of the recording done on his end, there’d be no need for him to even be there. 

A hard, scraping sound was heard— George had stood up, pushing his chair back. “What? Why? We’ve gotten so much done today and you’re just gonna bugger off?” George hissed, obviously agitated at the fact that Paul had barely even been at the studio that day. Paul opened his mouth to respond, but a stern voice suddenly interrupted him. “Lay off, Georgie. He’s obviously not well.” *Obviously*, those words rung in Paul’s head. George blinked, but didn’t respond. John then turned to him. “Just go home to Linda and rest or something.” Beside him, Yoko nodded. Paul demised her response. 

It didn’t go unnoticed that Paul had apparently tensed up at the sound of Linda’s name, and in response, John pulled a shocked look. “What? You and that American bird already broken up? Almost a new record.” He laughed, but Paul didn’t return it. “She’s out uh- back in America for some funeral.” He didn’t mention that he’d be alone that night. John seemed to pick up on it, though, and before he could respond, Paul was already going to grab his coat. “See you tomorrow.” He said, it being followed by a chorus of ‘byes’ and ‘feel better.’ 

The walk home was definitely not the highlight of his miserable day, despite the excitement he had to get home and sleep away the sickness and loneliness. He tripped and fell into a puddle, was pretty sure someone laughed at him when it happened, and then promptly speed walked as fast as he could back home. 

Upon unlocking the door and stepping into the house, he was immediately met with loud barking that made his head hurt 10 times worse. He quickly calmed Martha down and tried to find some kind of medicine that could alleviate any of him symptoms, but he’d only found something that could help with his headache, and it specifically said not to take on an upset stomach. He sighed, ignored the warning and took 2 pills. 

Martha whined as he stepped past her and into his bedroom, immediately stripping of his coat and pants, so he’d only sleep in a sweater and shorts, and then curled up underneath his covers, willing for sleep to finally take him away so he could at least dream of having someone there. He was just starting to feel the effects of the medicine kick in when his mind finally blanked, and he drifted into a fitful sleep. 

He dreamed of Linda, working her hands through his hair, taking pictures of him and playing with her daughter. They were in the yard, sweet music from his guitar playing in the background on a warm, sunny day. Before he’d gotten to pulling Linda close and kissing her soft skin, he’d found himself in the studio, discussing stuff with the others. 

Every time he’d look away, John’s gaze would follow along out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked back, John wasn’t even near them. He was too infatuated with Yoko, and George and Ringo weren’t even looking at him either. They were looking at someone else, each other possibly, but Paul had only seen John’s intense gaze staring deeply into Yoko’s eyes. He’d looked away again, and instead this time, when he looked back; everyone was gone. 

He was floating in a black void, lacking any sound and color. It felt hot and stuffy, like he was burning with a fever, but upon feeling his face, he’d come to find nothing. He stayed like that for a while... until an all too familiar bass line, though it sounded muffled and broken, filled the darkness with sound. Paul attempted to make out what it was, but before he could, a sudden crash awoke him from his sleep. 

He bolted upright, hands clutching at the blankets and bringing them up with him. Martha was barking downstairs, and a muffled voice attempted to calm her down. The room was spinning too much, and he felt like he was going to throw up again, but he didn’t have any wastebaskets near him and was still shocked from awoken suddenly. He put a hand to his head, convinced he must’ve been hearing voices until a sudden yell from downstairs alerted him again. 

Paul suddenly fell out of bed in an attempt to go and find out whoever the intruder was, and he unfortunately hit the ground hard enough to make him even more dazed. Untangling himself from the sheets, he pushed himself off the ground and groaned, holding a hand to his head as he started to feel it pounding once more. He dragged himself out of his room, stopping only at the top of the steps when he felt like he wouldn’t be able to walk down them without falling over. 

He grabbed the railing, but abruptly felt no need, seeing a man petting Martha at the bottom of the stairs. Was his mind playing tricks on him, or was the intruder a man identical to no one other than John Lennon himself? “John?” He asked quietly, clenching his jaw at the sudden pain in his throat from talking. The man now assumed to be John stood up from his kneeling position and looked up the stairs, a goofy sort of looking smile on his face. 

“Paul! Hey, what are you doing out of bed?” John asked. His mood seemed to have flipped from when Paul last had a complete conversation with him in the bathroom, from stern, annoyed and pissed to light-hearted, joking and even calm. Paul blinked at the question- why couldn’t he be out of bed? “I uh-er... I heard a crash.” He stated, short and simple. He tried to take a step down the stairs, but his knees almost gave in, and he found himself clutching the railing as if his life depended on it. “Uh, don’t try and come down.” Suddenly, John had scaled the stairs and was helping him go back up, a warm hand on his back, leading him to his bedroom. 

The younger one was sat down on his bed and given a glass of water, one in which Paul had no idea where John had gotten it from. ”What are you doing here?” Paul asked softly, taking a sip from the water. John turned, seeming to fiddle with his hands nervously, searching for an answer. “Look I- uh, I knew you’d be alone and... I just didn’t want you suffering alone- I wouldn’t really want that for anyone, but you’re the only person whose house keys I have copies of. “ He admitted, a faint blush coming to his cheeks. Paul set the water down on the bed stand, knowing he wouldn’t be able to finish it. A spark of affection ignited in his chest, a feeling of warmth flooded his senses. He must’ve been blushing too, because then he felt a hand on his forehead, checking for a fever. “Yeah, you’re burning, mate. Just lay down, I’ll get you something.” He complied, not bothering to pull the covers over himself. 

John left the room, Paul assumed he’d went off to find medicine for him to take, but the thought of eating anything made him feel sick. Since he’d basically slept off the medicine he’d taken earlier, he felt no point in taking it again, for it had only worsened his condition. The older man returned soon, some sort of medicine in his hands. “This should help- Yoko recommended it. Some Japanese shit and tea.” Paul had his eyes closed, willing himself to go back to bed. The bed suddenly dipped beside him, but knowing it was only John attempting to feed him something, he only hummed in response. 

Though his eyes were closed, he could feel John’s intense stare. “Hey-“ John prompted, placing the tray he’d brought up on the bedside table. “What’s wrong?” He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. Paul could write a 100 page list on everything that was wrong with him, but in that exact moment, he’d opted out and instead shortened it to a few words. “Sick, lonely. Not hungry, before you ask.” He’d added the second part hastily, knowing John would suggest he eat something. “Lonely?” John asked, his voice deep and quiet, all too familiar to his ears. His hands had migrated to his hair, running his fingers through the slightly tangled locks. 

Paul didn’t respond, opting out in fear that when he opened his mouth, he’d either say something completely idiotic or throw up, and he wasn’t exactly enjoying the thought of either outcomes. “Well-“ John said after a short moment of silence. Paul felt him remove his hands from his hair, almost immediately craving his touch again. “You should probably eat.” The overwhelming smell of some sort of soup flooded his senses, forcing him to have to bite back against a gag. “I promise it helps.” 

Again, there was a brief moment of silence as Paul considered whether or not he should attempt to eat anything. If what John was saying was right, maybe he’d be able to feel better and get something into his system, but he also wasn’t sure whether or not he should trust anything Yoko suggested. Nonetheless, he slowly opened his eyes and sat up, earning a small grin from John. “Thanks. Here, try this, Yoko said it should help.” Though feeling a little upset that John had to tell Yoko everything that happened, he still examined the soup as normal. “I can’t pronounce the name, but I do know that it’s some sort of rice soup. Just try it.” John suggested, now placing the tray on Paul’s lap. 

Uninterested, he poked at the soup, hoping that maybe the smell would convince him to eat. In reality, he *was* hungry, but the queasy swirling in his stomach left an uneasy feeling in his mind. He tried a bite, naturally inclined to know whether his first would spark to be something worse or something better, and fortunately enough, he’d been able to get it down. It didn’t taste spectacular but after a few bites, he was almost sure it wasn’t poisoned. 

John seemed intent on watching him finish, occasionally adding a few sentences to a fragmented conversation until Paul had finished what he could. He’d only managed to eat around half of the bowl, more than what he’d thought. After finishing a quarter, he had slightly forced himself to finish else off what he could, but was almost positive that his stomach would settle soon enough. “So... how’d you like it? That’s probably the best remedy I’ve ever had.” John commented, picking up the tray from the bed sheet and placing it down on the bedside table. Paul merely shrugged, just happy he’d been able to eat since he’d skipped most of breakfast and all of his lunch.

Since he had thought about it, he really had been hungry, but the fear of being sick again prohibited him from eating anything. That, and the fact that he practically fell asleep right when he got home, which— wasn’t his fault, of course. Thankfully he had John to take care of him, but he doubted he’d stay much longer, now that he’d gotten what he had come to do over with. 

“It was okay.” He finally decided to say, sliding down on the bed and closing his eyes slightly. Being awoken abruptly from a nap didn’t exactly settle well with his sleep schedule, so he’d still felt pretty tired. He knew John was watching him as he attempted to get comfortable again, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t expected him to. “I’m glad it was okay, and er- I guess I should tell you that uh,,, Linda called earlier.” Paul’s eyes snapped open at the sound of her name, and though he’d loved having John over, he knew that John had given up on any sort of relationship they’d once had since what happened in India. “What’d she say?” He asked, voice raspy and laced with drowsiness. 

He knew John seemed a little hesitant to tell him, and this thought struck fear into his heart. A plethora of questions, mainly paranoid and anxious ones, arose in his head, and he’d been so focused on them that he’d almost not heard what John had replied with. “She’s coming back like, tomorrow. She’s on a plane right now. I didn’t know whether or not I should’ve woken you up or not.” Paul blinked, mouth gaping open like a fish. “No, it’s okay. I-uh- fuck.” He didn’t know how to react- that’s what he’d been wanting all day, was to have someone to come home to and talk to. But now that he’d been faced with the opportunity of seeing Linda again, it only made him feel like John was going to leave sooner now. 

The older man must’ve picked up on his silence, pressuring him to figure out what was wrong. “Hey, aren’t you happy to see her?” He asked, sitting down with a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Of course I am! I just... you wouldn’t get it.” He said in response, avoiding eye contact. John looked at him for another moment, before finally remaining silent. Paul took the silence as a moment to try and sleep again, but now confusing thoughts swirled around his head, accompanying the throbbing sensation behind his eyes. Was it to be Linda, or John? Linda, no doubt, loved him. She was undeniably possibly going to be the best thing that happened to him, besides *John*. 

Any feelings he’d had towards John only intensified whenever he was next to him, whenever he was enjoying something with him, whenever he thought of him. He’d come to realize that, though he and John had been close since they’d joined the same band, John had slowly drifted away from him, whether or not it be from the drugs in which he used Yoko as an escape from, or he’d changed his mind and decided that maybe... Paul was too much of a control freak and an asshole to live with. Was that what John thought, or what he thought? 

In the end, it didn’t matter. John would leave his house soon, and though Paul would miss his warmth, his presence and his soothing, deep voice... Linda would arrive soon, climb into bed with him and make sure he’s okay, because that’s what she did. She was such a stable constant in his life that he’d almost tried to drown John out from his thoughts, but nonetheless, being faced with the same man who simultaneously fixed and broke his heart every single day, made it too hard to completely erase his feelings. 

Warmth suddenly appeared beside him, but Paul was already too close to drifting off to open his eyes and see what it was. Martha? Linda? John? The questions circulated into his head until they formulated themselves into the black expansive void that he’d always faced right before falling asleep. A sudden, but soft voice interrupted his half-slumber. 

“I love you, Macca.” 

*Macca*. That was him, John called him that. A pounding feeling in his chest confirmed that the statement had sent his heart soaring. “Just sleep.” Came the other whisper, and though Paul wanted to stay awake and talk to John, he couldn’t help but listen to his orders, catching one last glimpse of John as he batted his eyes open quickly, and then fell into a deep sleep. 

 

When he awoke, he wasn’t sure of whether or not he was alone. Nobody was in the room with him, but he could hear something downstairs. He sat up slowly, his eyes drooping with exhaustion and his mind felt cloudy and muddled. A muffled clatter rang from downstairs. Was it Martha? Had she run into something? Groaning, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, prepared to get up and investigate downstairs. There was a slightly bright light shining through the curtains, causing him to suspect that it must’ve been early to late morning, perhaps. 

The talking downstairs got louder as he stepped out of bed. Thankfully, his head had stopped pounding, and the room was standing straight for the first time in a few hours. There was no sign of John, he doubted he’d have stayed while he slept. 

Upon making his way downstairs, the voices (he’d come to find out that there’d been two people) became much clearer. “Linda?” He called out, peeking into the kitchen, only to see her, petting Martha eagerly. She suddenly stopped, causing Martha to whine and little and push her head forward, once she’d noticed Paul. “Oh- honey!” He abruptly felt himself being pulled into a warm hug. He opened his mouth to greet her more properly, but she’d already cut him off. “John told me you were sick. Are you okay?” Though confused for a moment, he finally returned the hug and sighed. “I’m uh- much better than I was.” 

Pulling away, though his hands remained on the side of her hips and her hands on his shoulders, he locked his gaze with her. She looked slightly concerned, but happy to see him, and that’s what Paul *needed* to see. He needed someone who worried about them enough to etch it across their features. He needed someone who missed him so much that they’d called every other night, even if he’d not picked up on the account of sleeping or substances other than the sweet release of sleep entering his body. He knew, in that moment, that she’d really fill most of the hole in his heart, caved in from brutal refutes from John, and the guilty feelings he’d harbored because of cheating on Jane. 

They looked at each other for another brief moment, until they were both interrupted by a sound that reminded them that there was still a child in the household. Heather came running into the kitchen, squealing for her mom and holding out what seemed to be a cut on her finger. Linda immediately untangled herself from Paul and kneeled down to examine it. “It’s okay sweetie, I’ll get you a bandaid. Go talk to Daddy, okay?”

Upon noticing him, Heather smiled and ran up to him, arms in the air as she requested him to pick her up. He complied, and she immediately hugged him. “I haven’t seen you in... like a million years!” She said sweetly, now holding her hand out as Linda put a band aid on her finger. Paul laughed, turning his head away a little. “Yeah, it’s been a while huh- glad you’re back.” He felt her weight being lifted out of his arms as she dropped herself to the floor, preoccupying herself with Martha. 

Slowly, Linda grabbed Paul’s wrist and led him out of the kitchen, allowing them to have some time to themselves to discuss. “How was it? Having the house to yourself?” She asked, thankful to see that nothing had been broken. Paul swallowed, feeling obligated to lie and say he’d done quite well, completely sober. “Honestly, I was really lonely. It was like...” he trailed off, not wanting to talk about times where it had been worse. Linda’s facial expression softened. “Couldn’t you have answered my calls more often? Or went out with John?” Linda was much more understanding when it came to his erratic behaviors, but he couldn’t find the right words to explain his situation with John. Linda had yet to know if their past relationship, but being the ever observant lady she was, he’d assumed she’d known a little bit about what happened through their brief talks on the subject. 

“John’s with Yoko all the time. I don’t- I don’t remember why I didn’t answer. I was probably asleep.” He answered softly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s okay, I can’t expect you to be at the phone every night. Especially when you have a house like this to yourself.” She joked, tone lighthearted but still seeming disappointed in him. 

His hand moved to the back of his neck, feeling an embarrassed flush coming to his cheeks. He hummed in response, averting his gaze downwards and examining the cracks in the wood below his feet. “How was the-“ he started quietly, but was interrupted, again, by Linda. It didn’t frustrate him at all, he was sure his conversation would lead to nowhere anyway. “Listen, honey. You know, if you’re lonely you can just talk to me, right?” 

*If you’re lonely you can talk to me. * That wasn’t exactly something he wanted to think about. John didn’t uphold his side of the promise, there. 

“I know it’s hard, especially because of whatever you guys argue about in the studio all the time, and... whatever is going on between you and John-“ Paul perked his gaze up, not meeting her eyes just yet. “But I’ll be there. If this week was hard, I’m not sure who to blame... but from now on, promise me you’ll come to me about anything.” She looked back at him, and this time, he felt trapped in her gaze. He opened his mouth, thinking for a moment. “Of course- yeah, Lin. You’re too good to me.” 

Linda finally sighed and smiled. “No, I’m not. I’m just fine- now, do you want anything to eat? I’m not sure how you’re feeling, we haven’t talked much about it.” She told him, and yeah, he agreed with her, but he didn’t feel like it would be a necessary thing to bring up. “If you think I should have some I will.” In that moment, it reminded him of a song he’d been writing down. 

She smiled again, now walking away from him and meeting her daughter in the kitchen. Paul turned to follow, but stopped in his tracks suddenly. Why did he still feel lonely? It definitely wasn’t as bad before- but he was sure that having Linda back would completely erase the feeling. The only time he’d felt it disappear was when... John had come to the house. 

*John* was like a metal weight tied to his ankle, further drowning him in the deep sea he’d known as loneliness. Linda was only a scuba diver, occasionally able to pull him above the waves for moments at a time before he’d be dragged back down again. He held an inescapable fear that, now that John left him permanently for Yoko, that cold feeling in his chest would never disappear. It almost sent shivers down his spine. 

Paul shook his head. Who was he kidding? He had a wonderful girlfriend and a child who kept him company. He didn’t need John to feel happy. He didn’t need John at all, as a matter of fact. This was a mindset he’d already tried to grow accustomed to, but every time he thought about it, it would only get worse and worse. 

Couldn’t get worse than this, could it? He was a lonely man, there was nothing he could do to fix that but plead until John took him back, which would be... approximately never. 

He was thrown out of his thoughts as a sudden call for him erupted from the kitchen. “Paul? Are you coming?” It was Linda. Though he couldn’t do anything to fix his broken heart... he figured he’d have to use whatever bandages worked, and right now, Linda seemed to be the only one holding the fragments together.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I hope you liked it, I’d love to hear what you thought about it!
> 
> And hey, if you’re commenting, wanna tell me if you’ve got a favorite Beatles album?? I’d love to know who’s reading my stories better :-)


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